


one does not simply catch a gestalt

by Stabbsworth



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, higgsbury belongs to strawberrychocletysundae on tumblr i think, the entire fic is a feral man thinking too much, there's at least two other wilsons mentioned, vale belongs to horrortropess / nightmarethrones, winona is mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:13:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22856041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stabbsworth/pseuds/Stabbsworth
Summary: The moon brings about a wondrous sense of lunacy in even the most stable-minded individuals.Or: How a very specific version of Wilson found himself on a boat, then came to the conclusion that he was attempting to catch a gestalt.
Kudos: 9





	one does not simply catch a gestalt

He awakes at last from a dreamless sleep, back into the realm of the living with grogginess and annoyingly dry throats abound.

Well, one annoyingly dry throat. He doesn't have two heads, after all.

The boat gently rocks on the seawater. It still takes him a moment to realize where he is as he leans against the mast. He can't seem to retrieve any memory of coming here by his own volition. And that concerns him. His memory isn't usually that bad, right?

He wriggles a bit, trying to glean just a little bit more warmth from the threadbare blanket that they've brought on the trip. They had a few like that, worn down to the point of having a few holes in them. Figured out they wouldn't be missed, so what's the harm in taking them on the boat?

It's too cold for him to go back to sleep. He finds a bit of humor in the fact that it's usually a complaint that either William or Willow would have.

What he wouldn't give to temporarily… 'borrow' that old coat that Maxwell wore. Would definitely fix both problems, hell, it'd definitely fit William.

Actually, he could reasonably do it right now. The only problem he has with doing it is it requires energy, and he can't currently be arsed to hop in and grab it.

Cival wriggles again, rolling over on the straw roll to turn his back on the lunar isles. The boat is currently parked at one of the… three, four, islands.

Just a quick supply run, they said. Wanted to make some more statues with the moon glass.

He definitely remembers going along with them.

There's an annoyed huff. They probably haven't found him annoying enough to abandon, but the thought crosses his mind regardless.

He's on the only boat that they've taken out to this little corner of the Constant they currently inhabit. Of course they can't just leave him here, getting the stuff to make a new boat would be too much work for just a little supply run. The moon glass had its uses, admittedly, and yet he hated handling the stuff.

A lot of things about the moon island were detestable to him.

The pulsy-numb feeling in his mind, despite having crystal-clear clarity just a few seconds prior to hopping off the boat; the shimmery ghosts that kept harassing him--

...He vaguely remembers wanting to try and catch a gestalt. He might've been able to put his hands around one via a lunge that left him on the ground and liable to be knocked by a few of them.

There's a few holes here and there, and he's not sure if he wants to continue trying to piece this together or not.

Realizing what you did last night while you were drunk off your arse because you had a few too many pints to drink is certainly a feeling that exists. Only there's no alcohol involved whatsoever, and the result was even more disappointing than if there had been alcohol.

He sits up, if only to curl up and apply two hands to his face in the form of a double-handed facepalm. One hand isn't even enough for this level of shitfest, and he doubts two is enough, too.

"Fuck."

There's a very long sigh, before he pulls his hands away from his face. He has half the mind to bash his head against the mast, but decides against it for the sole reason that giving himself a concussion isn't particularly productive.

The Boss probably knows about this. Charlie is probably going to know about it at some point. Hell, he's pretty sure William and Winona know about it, if waking up on the boat is any indication of it.

Fuck the sea, fuck the moon island in particular, and fuck today, of all days.

Bugger it all.

The hell is he supposed to do here in the first place? Sit there and look pretty and stew in some shitty internal monologue that derails itself every five minutes and calls him an idiot for even bothering to do something then calls him an idiot for being too scared to do something?

He lays himself down on the straw roll again, giving another annoyed huff. The other two probably won't be back for some time, which is perfect, because he needs time alone to sulk about this entire thing. The consequences of his actions are going to bite him in the ass sooner or later.

Cival whines to himself and drags a hand down his face.

Surely, carrats would have been a better thing to grab than moon glass, right? They could at least have some fun with racing them, and he's definitely missed having lab rats about.

Apparently Vale wants some samples of the moon glass, from what he remembers, but why? The stuff is horrible to handle, what with being literal shards, and somebody could easily get hurt on those.

He decides that whatever happens with that probably isn't going to be his problem. There's a bad feeling about the entire place anyways, and no, it's not because he's just hungry and thus irritated.

Actually, the gnawing hunger might be a bit of a problem.

It'd be reasonable for him to move from his spot on the straw roll, get off the boat and onto the moon island, and go and search for some stone fruits.

The damnable excuses for food are easily opened with a pickaxe. Fleshy, edible insides with a… fairly abhorrent texture. Maybe it'd have a better texture and taste when cooked, but he hasn't particularly bothered trying after having to eat the insides of a stone fruit for a boating trip before.

One time, he somehow managed to get some sort of sprout from one of them. He ended up planting it at one of the camp's farming areas, near to a cluster of berry bushes.

At the very least, the stone fruits were gobbler-proof. The birds, however, gave some good meat at the end of the day, and he found that meat was, oftentimes, much more filling than fruits and vegetables. And the meat was much more preservable, none of the Wilsons had managed to come up with a preservable option for vegetable or fruit foodstuffs.

Probably should get onto that at some point, but the materials for blueprints and such are back at the main base. He can't just take the boat back there because the other two aren't back yet.

He stretches his arms in some attempt to get the stiffness out of them. There's a bit of suspicion that he might've been left laying on the ground for a bit back when he was trying to catch that gestalt. Or, well, supposedly. It seems like an action he'd take.

It's also at times like these he really wishes he weren't as aware of his dumbassery as he is. There's definitely going to be a rumor around camp about this, and he's going to have to neither confirm or deny it like he does with the rest, and hope everyone eventually forgets it, mostly because he has a reputation to uphold, dammit. It'd be nice if he could actually keep a reputation of being an evil shadowy person instead of being known as the socially maladjusted dumbass.

Even Higgsbury keeps a better reputation than he does, and that's saying something. Or, well, keeps his reputation as an evil shadowy man. The guy wears a veil and probably wears heels, because a lot of the Wilsons in the camp are… lacking in the height department, to put it lightly.

Cival runs a hand through his hair, muttering quietly to himself. Maybe there won't be rumors, everyone's had embarrassing shit happen to them that they've collectively agreed not to talk about.

He wriggles a bit, sticking his hand back under the blanket and shivering. What he wouldn't give to be back in his tent. Would definitely be a better experience, and he wouldn't have to lay on an abominably scratchy straw roll.

(He could definitely see why Vale couldn't stand the stuff.)

The sunset fades into night, and he fiddles around in his pockets, producing a tesla coil lantern, and sets it down next to the mast, then turns it on with the last dregs of daylight available.

It emits a steady hum as it outputs enough light to encompass the entire boat before he turns the dial down, and the bulbs dim a fair bit. The hum is less pronounced, but still there. Cival lays himself down, thankful for some white noise, and turns to face away from the lantern.

There's no stars in the night sky, and the moon brings about a wondrous sense of lunacy.

**Author's Note:**

> two other wilsons are mentioned.  
> vale - nightmarethrones on tumblr  
> higgsbury - berries. i forgot what her url is.
> 
> may eventually be updated with another chapter when cival can be arsed to get up.


End file.
